


Birthday

by kindaquirky



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen, Meghan made me do it, prompt fill from tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 12:49:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindaquirky/pseuds/kindaquirky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every year, Martha receives a small brown paper package on her doorstop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted on tumblr for this sweet little headcannon of Jack and the companions post Tardis http://a-study-in-slytherin.tumblr.com/post/42452398726/do-you-know-where-your-towel-is . And when my friend saw it she made me do it (as usual when it comes to my writing). This is un-beta'd(and my first fanfic ever), but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless.

       Every year, Martha received the small brown paper package outside her door. There was never a return address, never a name, just the same message, _You are always important Martha Jones_. It's always the same; a small lined diary, different colors with a matching blue pen. The first year, she didn't think much of the soft blue book, rarely writing down her thoughts, too scattered with finally being back home and trying to grasp what exactly she was going to do, now that the Doctor was gone, now that she had let herself be left behind.

     By the second year, the second book, and the second note, it became easier to express herself, to write about her fears of not being good enough, of her family maybe never forgiving her for what she had put them through just because she had ever known the Doctor. She wrote of the change from caring for one person at a time in medicine, to caring for the world by working in UNIT, and her worries that it still may not be enough. The pages of the light yellow book were packed with her small tight-knit handwriting, going past medians and the unlined sections of the page, needing to fit all of her thoughts into that one book where she tapped the the small strip of paper, reminding her that no matter how low she felt, how often she thought that maybe she could have lived in some other woman's shadow, that at least someone thought she was important.  
    By the fifth year, the pages of the bright green diary were filled with thoughts of Micky, of forever, of being together and staying together. Of wanting and actually getting. Of the possibility of more, of a family of her own with a man who loved her and would come home no matter what.  
In every book after, she wrote of her family, of moving on, of her life in general and less of not being good enough. Yet there were still pages, still nights, where once her children were asleep, and the house was quite, that she would look at her scrawl, because she couldn't look up to see Micky staring out the large living room window, at the stars, quiet and sad, and would wonder if she was still living in the shadow of a woman she had never met.  
    So she would turn to the front of her book, where the same note, in the same handwriting that showed up every year on her birthday no matter where she lived, and remember that someone somewhere thought that that she was always, always important. On those night, not looking at her husband who could never truly turn away from the stars, she would take a deep breath, hold the matching pen tightly, and write to them, when no one else could understand.

 

    Half the time Donna felt like she had no idea what was going on. Sometimes she knew it was because she was to blame. She somehow missed the important things, though aliens making their way to earth was a bit hard to believe. There were the times where she knew she was being intentionally left out. When her grandfather would stare at her, then quickly hurry off to his telescope, no longer inviting her along. When her mother would make an aborted move towards her, opening her mouth to say something but stopping herself, always stopping herself, and turning away and making some snide remark about how Donna could have gotten a better job, how she could have kept a better house, how she could always have been better.  
    The bracelet charms started coming just before she married Shaun. She thought it was a strange, sweet gesture from him; a little unmarked package sitting in the mailbox. Something stopped her from mentioning it to him when she first saw it, and the next day, when she found the little note card that had fallen of written in handwriting far too nice to ever be Shaun's that said _You are unforgettable Donna Noble_. She thought it pretty vague, but the single unpolished jade was pretty, and the sweet tinkling sound it made when she would knock it against something, or forget she even had it on made her happy.  
    She wasn't expecting anything the second year, but there in the mailbox was a little brown package with the same note. The amber was a little surprising, but a small clasp let her put it right next to the jade, let her make that sweet little sound just a little louder, just a little sweeter. When her mother would go on about her job not being good enough, of Shaun not taking enough initiative, she would hear that little sound, and it would take her away for a moment, that Shaun, that someone who left her little presents thought there was something worthy in her.  
    The third year was a strange little green and red stone. She didn't think anything of it, and again placed it right next to the amber, making the sound a little larger, a little more believable. She needed that sound when there was yet another thing that she was left out of, when her grandfather would get that far off look in his eyes, not defending her against her mother like he use to, just letting her talk over Donna, let her talk over him, let her tell them both everything they did wrong. Her grandfather would leave, go to his little hill and his stargazing, and Donna would twist her wrist just so, just enough to hear a sweet little sound, to hear the bloodstone knock against all the rest, and give her a moment of peace.  
    Every year on her birthday a single stone comes, every year the same note, and every year the sound grows a little stronger, and Donna thinks to herself, that maybe the note is right, that maybe Donna is worth remembering. That someone cared enough every year to never forget her. When her grandfather grew farther and farther away from her, when her mother closed off more and more. When Shaun would go quiet, when she would have quick moments of doubt, of maybe there was something more that she was missing from her life, even with the money and the husband and the children, the stones would click, would sing to her a song she felt in her soul, and she would calm.  
    Years after the first, when the stones were close, when the room was running out, when every stone she had reminded her of a year of her life that she felt something was missing, that there was half a life she could have had, a friend would mention how rarely people wore infinite stones, how someone must love her, and how every stone meant something, love, money healing but always, always protection. She would glance down at it, hear the still sweet, still quiet song, maybe just for her, and feel a warmth in her. Not love, not joy, but comfort in knowing that someone found her unforgettable, found her special enough to protect in their own way, and laugh at her friend, and call her mad.

 

    Jack knew, that for all the strength he had, for all the lives he would lead, there were some things he just couldn't do. He couldn't save Rose, he couldn't save Ianto. He would never be able to get rid of that selfish streak he always had, no matter how many people he loved. He could never forgive the Doctor. For leaving him behind, for leaving them all behind. Martha, so strong, so confident, would always have that same fear, that she would never be good enough for anyone, even if she was the one that stood her ground, and told the Doctor goodbye. Donna would never remember how she was the one that saved them all, that she was the only one who could have done it. Jack knew he could never go to them about this, Donna for fear of destroying everything that was done to save her, Martha because he knew she would shrug it off, tell him they were the better, the stronger for even having known him. The others, because he had never truly known them. He could give them comfort. Sarah Jane would never have a birthday where she did not receive flowers with the note _There will never be another Smith quite like you_. Every year different ones, from the exotic to the mundane, all with different but important meanings. Mixtures of 'I love you' and 'I wish you the best' with the underlying meaning of 'I miss him too'. Martha would always get her diaries, giving her a safe space for her thoughts, for the worries she didn't think anyone would care enough about, even though Jack would have always listened to her, even if she didn't believe him. Donna would get her charms, little trinkets for protection for the times when he couldn't protect her, for when he could have done better. Jack needed to take care of them in his own way, his selfish streak coming out. He hoped that down the line, one of them would be there for him.

 

    When the Face of Boe saw Martha, his Martha, still so fresh and new and dazzling, he knew he would it all over again for her. For all of them. Because everyone needed something to remind them of just how special they were, even if they couldn't remember it themselves.


End file.
